Harry Potter 1. Evil is NOT Sexy: Rated K

"Evil is _Not_ Sexy"  
by MmeFleiss  
Rating: K  
Disclaimer: Not mine even if I change my initials to JKR.

* * *

"Did you just call Malfoy a Sex God?" Harry Potter interrupted, seemingly unaware of his spoonful of mashed potatoes clattering back down on his plate.

Lavender and Parvati merely glared at him from across the table, with the latter adding an annoyed sniff as she swiped off a blob off his utensil that had landed on her robes. "We can't help it if he's the hottest boy around," The blonde replied after a shared eyeroll with her companion.

"But he's an evil git."

"An evil git with the best bum to grace those awful mustard-colored Quidditch pants."

"But he's _evil_," Harry reiterated, at the same time wondering just how many brain cells his two housemates have lost over the years from beauty potion fumes.

"Yes, but one who's also got a great smile."

And again, I must repeat that he's…"

Well maybe evil is sexy, all right?" Parvati snapped, her bangles jangling as she slammed her right hand on the table for emphasis.

"That's the dumbest reason I've ever heard! Under that logic, Voldemort is the sexiest being on Earth!" Harry froze as he realized that he'd drawn attention to himself again by accidentally yelling out that last bit. Ugh. As if that mental image alone wasn't bad enough.


	2. Noli Me Tangere: Rated T

Noli Me Tangere  
by MmeFleiss  
Rating: T  
AN: my answer to the Easter drabble challenge over at the Hermione/Sirius group in LiveJournal. Thanks to LatinD for taking the time to look this over for me.

* * *

For some reason, Easter is always hardest for Hermione; perhaps even more so than his actual day of death. She still remembers those dreaded two week breaks at Hogwarts: watching her schoolmates reverently eat their rationed chocolates from home and act as if there was nothing at all wrong with honoring a fucking irony.

She thinks that maybe they just didn't realize what exactly it was they were celebrating. They'd all lost somebody in the war, too. But to the others, Easter meant no more than just another reason to eat candy and pretend that they were all staying behind by choice. They hadn't wasted years listening to stories of how Jesus came back from the dead; gullibly believing in the idea that good would somehow always triumph. Much in the same way she used to believe in so many other myths: like happily-ever-afters and how she could make a difference if she only tried hard enough. Then one day she lost him to the veil and realized that no amount of prayer would ever bring him back.


	3. Perceptions of Reality: Rated K

"Perceptions of Reality"  
by MmeFleiss  
Rating: K  
AN: Dedicated to sbeegee, whose post on dementors inspired this drabble. Too bad I failed on the humor front, eh?

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, dementors were not heartless beings. They thought it was quite lovely that humans possesed many happy memories to selflessly share with others. Despite such blessings, however, the silly creatures continued to live a wretched existence--always cowering in some corner and pleading for an end. 

The dementors' sole gift was an answer to those prayers; so they couldn't understand why, after the War, they were condemned for giving people the luxury of forgetting.


	4. A Fractured Fairytale: Rated K

"A Fractured Fairytale"  
by MmeFleiss  
Rating: K+ for character death  
Disclaimer: Not mine even if I change my initials to JKR.

* * *

He found Hermione's body first, her amber eyes closed as if she'd merely decided to take a rest in the middle of the pockmarked field littered with the bodies of foes and allies alike. The only real indication that there was something wrong was the crimson stain on her robes glittering in the starlight. Harry brushed aside the scorched grass bent over her body as if in mourning, pressing his mouth against her cold, unyielding lips and wishing he still believed in fairytales where everything could be resolved with a kiss.

He'd finally managed to triumph over Voldemort, but somehow he didn't feel like he'd won anything at all.


	5. Unsaid: K

"Unsaid"  
by MmeFleiss  
Rating: K+ for character death  
Disclaimer: Not mine even if I change my initials to JKR.  
Note: Written because sectumsempra is a Percy fangirl and requested this. :) Thanks to nelliedarlin for the beta.

* * *

Percy supposes he shouldn't feel at all surprised at seeing that his mother had left his room untouched since he left home all those years ago: from the faded teddy bear in the corner with the frayed red bow which he has never got round to throwing away, to the framed Head Boy badge above his writing table, shining with what sunlight manages to penetrate the grimy windowpanes. Unlike the rest of the house, it's the one place where time seems to stand still; a memorial to that long-lost youth he barely recognizes.

With uncharacteristic slowness, he steps inside the doorway and sits down on the floral duvet he'd hated but hadn't had the heart to tell his mum. He ignores the squeals of long-unused springs as he reaches for the folded note on the bedside table, the parchment rough beneath his fingertips as he smoothes away the well-worn creases on his lap.

The combination of faded ink and tearstains blotting the page make it nigh unreadable, but he wonders how often his mother had sat on this exact same spot anyway and made herself reread those angry, ill-thought-out words.

Percy pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to recall that feeling of never quite belonging; the nights he stayed awake in bed and listened to his siblings' whispers and guffaws on the opposite side of the too-thin walls, lying alone in the dark because they never thought to invite him. But the sentiment eludes him, slipping past his fingers as easily as mist.

Even murmuring under his breath the long-memorized reasons, numbered and footnoted on the parchment before him, elicits nothing more than a soft sigh. Because they are no longer real in the same way that war is real. Or houses that ceases to be filled with voices and laughter. Or death.

There is no triumph in knowing the he alone had the foresight to consider his continuing survival instead of dying for a losing cause.

Percy stands up and dusts the back of his robes, sending motes of dust swirling around him in the fading light. He then takes a final look around before flicking his wand in an upward arc, hoping to seal away the tattered remains of his emotions along with the last relics of his childhood.


End file.

Harry Potter